


No Exit

by Lapinrose



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Depression, Dominant Ben Solo, Drug Use, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Making Love, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to eating disorder, Rough Sex, Smut, Some Fluff, Strained Relationship With Parent, Suicidal Ideation, Swearing, Therapy, addressing life problems, but its weed, can you tell my kinks from what I write, fragile masculinity, like really fucking casual swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:01:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26792560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lapinrose/pseuds/Lapinrose
Summary: Ben finds a stranger leaving a flower on his Dad's grave.
Relationships: Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 34
Kudos: 87





	1. I'm a ruin

**Author's Note:**

> For S.

The old Ben died at 16. Or maybe 15. He can’t be sure. 

Today, right now, it’s the afternoon, he feels it. He knows it by the position of the sun slipping through the tattered window blinds. His long legs dangle off the end of his bed. It used to fit him perfectly, back when he was 15 or 16. Now it’s been months since he came back home, but he hasn’t found the time to go to Ikea. Between the smoking, the procrastination, the anxiety, and the hentai, there is very little time to visit Ikea.

His mouth feels awful; he should have brushed his teeth after smoking. He always wakes up to this, and he never learns his lesson. 

He’s never learnt any lesson.

The clock reads 1:00 pm but it’s slow. It’s probably 2:00 or 3:00, but he can’t remember whether it’s one or two hours slow. His languorous form slithers out of bed. Or is slothful a more fitting term? It hardly matters. He’s a lazy piece of shit. A failure. And he knows it. 

He puts on a clean shirt and heads to the kitchen, not noticing in time that she’s in there. Leia stands over the cutting board, one arm in a sling, the other is awkwardly stabbing at a carrot with the last good knife in the house.

Out of nowhere, he finds the courage to speak first, “Salad for breakfast?”

Her shoulders tense.

Great, she’s going to go into another lecture. She whips her head around, utterly unimpressed, she would’ve looked happier if he started the conversation by insulting her.

“Breakfast for you, but lunch for normal people.” She turns back to the board. 

“Ok.” He whispers.

Seizing the opportunity, he turns to leave. He’s about to make a break for it, heading for the bathroom at the end of the hallway but she doesn’t make it easy.

“Do you know,” She begins as she always does, “how tiring it is? I’m in my forties. I’m not going to live forever. You think I’m always going to be around to look after you?”

“No.” He’s 15 again.

“When are you going to get it through your head? No never..” She chops the head of the carrot. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m better off talking to the wall. At least it can do things.”

“Mhmm.” He agrees. He’s 13 again.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Please let this end already, he thinks, I need to brush my teeth.

“You’ve been back for almost three months.” She turns back to him and starts gesticulating with her good hand, “You only looked for a job for a week! You’ve skipped your appointments with Dr Dameron, and the reminder letters are going to start piling up. There’s a fee for skipping appointments. You think we have $140 something dollars laying around? I spoke to Amilyn; she said she didn’t get your resume, you never sent it in, did you?”

The words burst out like she’s hosing his face with a thesaurus. He tries to grab onto one piece of information so he has something to say, even if it’s meaningless. 

Amilyn: family friend, and general manager of the mom and pop grocery store. She rejected him when he applied for assistant manager, cashier, and stockboy. She’d reject him if he applied to stand in the parking lot and breathe.

“How many times do I have to repeat myself?” It’s his turn to get angry, “I applied! Three different roles and I didn’t get any of them. No one wants to hire someone with a 2-year gap in their resume.”

“This is for a door greeter. If you’re so worried about your resume then go volunteer, lie about where you’ve been, do something!” She yells and turns back to cutting carrots.

Before he can take a step into the hallway, she speaks again, “We’re having lunch together.”

“Ok.”

“And we’re visiting your Dad later. You’re driving.”

He hesitates. “Right.”

He’s a 26-year-old man. He’s taller than her but she reduces him to a 6-year-old. Terrified of making Mom upset, maybe she will ground him, but he has nothing of value that she can take. Besides the phone.

He ends up taking a shower and brushing his teeth. It steals away a few minutes from their awkward lunch. He isn’t even hungry. As he sits across from her on the round glass table, they do not speak. The slight clicks of the fork hitting the plate fill the dead air.

“And you should be eating more salad. If you woke up on time, you wouldn’t have trouble eating proper meals. It would be easier to eat healthily.”

A pouch of belly pudge rests on top of his thighs, otherwise, he feels fine. She’s the one always going on and off diets. Ben sighs, he already felt like a failure, but now he's an unemployed overweight failure. She watches over him, daring him to talk back. They didn’t have the best relationship, but neither did they have the worst one. The atmosphere had been toxic ever since he got out of prison. 

He was emancipated at 16, that’s when Ben died. A few months afterwards he joined the FO and Kylo Ren was born. He thought he was escaping his domineering family, and for a while he had, he _was_ free. He climbed up the ladder until he made enough to live in his own place. It’s almost funny to refer to it as a ladder. Like how Leia hoped he would climb the corporate ladder for some faceless company.

A corporation is basically a gang with suits, right?

He _thought_ he had a new family with a new father. At least Snoke was around. Even if he was an asshole, he was a consistent asshole. Instinctively his hand rubs the healed bullet wound. Fuck. Snoke was a massive asshole. Maybe if he had a job, he could pay for another tattoo and use it to hide the scar. He ruffles his shirt, trying to scratch the phantom itch, barely an inch below his heart.

The doctors told him he was lucky but he doesn't feel lucky. He sure as shit didn’t feel lucky when he when to prison, even with a reduced sentence for narking. The fork clanks against the plate, “I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Go get changed then. I’m going to finish up then we can head off.”

He grunts in response. 

Fuck, he really is like his father.

Ever since Leia broke her arm falling down the stairs at work, he has had to drive her everywhere. Even helping Leia, he is breaking the law. As part of his punishment, the Judge revoked his licence. As long as the cops didn’t pull them over, they’d be fine. And if they were, then they’d play dumb, cops don’t arrest crippled old white ladies. It’s bad for their brand. 

They drive in silence and he's thankful she got her rant out. It’s dangerous to fight on the road. Especially when they have to take the freeway to visit Dad. The Earth is blooming, Leia stares out the window and wears a small smile as they pass evergreens and ferns. It doesn’t escape his notice and he's glad she has something to smile about. Even if she was a bitch to him this morning, err afternoon.

When they pull up to the cemetery, they’re one of three families visiting their departed loved ones. Out of the two of them, she loved Han, as for him... Well, it’s complicated. 

The smell of wet dirt, pebbles and dust fill the air as she opens the passenger side door.

“Are you gonna join me or wallow in the car?”

He drums the steering wheel with his fingers, “Wallow.”

After grabbing the flowers from the back seat, she slams the door shut. The sooner she finishes her visit, the sooner he can go home and do nothing. He’d rather be doing nothing at home than outside, at home he isn’t watched. He doesn’t have to pretend to be human. Unless Leia forces him to eat with her. Until then, he pulls up his phone and scrolls through inane shit. It’s pointless information and lacklustre jokes, the attempts at humour don’t even warrant an exhale through his nose. But he needs a distraction from existence. 

He locks the screen and turns on the radio allowing the smooth dulcet sound of Maz’s drip into his ears.

“... Onto the weather. Be sure to grab your umbrella on Thursday and Friday…”

He closes his eyes and enjoys the feel of the speakers vibrating in sync with her voice. It’s comforting. Aside from his mother, Maz was the only thing he missed from this bum-fuck city. Population, over half a million nobodies.

The entrance of the cemetery is well kept.

He’s dozing off until movement in the corner of his eyes jolts him awake. It’s not some animal; it’s a human. A woman, early 20s, entering the cemetery with a slight smile.

Fucking freak. Who smiles when visiting someone’s grave?

He tilts his head to get a closer look at the stockings she’s wearing under an office skirt. The skirt stops a few inches above her knees, and it’s too tight to be considered appropriate for corporate wear. As she bends over to pick a flower, he notices: she has great legs.

He chuckled as she nabbed a rose and walked into the cemetery, either she didn’t love whoever she was visiting, given that she’s stealing a flower, or she was a busy lady. He smiled, not like it was his place to judge, he let his Mom visit his other life-giver by her lonesome. She makes a right turn, the same right turn one would take to visit Han’s grave.

What happens next surprises him.

He opens the door and steps out. He’s sturdy enough that he doesn’t slip on wet pebbles. The cool wind causes goosebumps, but before leaving he adamantly told Leia he didn’t need a jacket since he wasn’t going to be leaving the car. Now he’s exposed to the elements, and for what reason? Maybe he wants to know where the woman is heading, or maybe he wants to spit on Han’s grave. He can’t be sure.

The stranger is several steps ahead. She doesn’t look back, she must not hear his footsteps against the wet gravel. He notices that she takes the same path one would take to visit Han. Looking around, Leia is nowhere to be found. 

He keeps walking.

Funny. She strides down the same aisle where Han is and Leia isn’t there. 

His stomach drops when she stops before his grave. She brushes some dirt off his headstone. 

“Holy fuck.” He whispers. 

He’s too shocked to do or say anything. There was no mistaking it: that was Han’s grave. He remembered because he visited it once beforehand, when he first got out of prison. You don’t forget visiting a parent’s grave. Now there was a stranger slowly starting to sob over his Dad’s grave.

At first, he thinks he’s seeing things, but there is no doubt. The headstone reads 'Han Solo.' and this young woman in a short skirt is sobbing. He had never seen her before, so what was she doing weeping like she lost the love of her life over his father’s grave?

Ben can hardly believe it. On top of all Han's other lovely traits, he was a cheater.

He stomps forward and after a few seconds, he is grabbing the crying stranger’s hand.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He shrieks.

She’d be pretty if she wasn’t his Dad’s mistress. Her face is wide and freckled. Red spreads across her cheeks and nose, the same red as her eyes, she looks like a deer in headlights.

“I’m sorry.” She whimpers and tries to pull away.

The fucking gall of this woman. “You and him both deserve to burn in hell!” 

She pulls hard and he releases her. He doesn't want to get done for assault. The force of the struggle causes her to fall backward, clutching the flower.

“I said I was sorry! I’m so sorry!” She wipes her tears.

“You should be! You have the fucking nerve to visit his grave. Fuck you!” Kylo Ren is yelling. Ben is hiding behind him, hurt, his Mom was loyal to a cheater even when he was laying 6 feet under. 

The girl doesn’t respond. She scrambles off the ground and shuffles past him sniffling. 

Overcome with the burst of energy, he falls back against a nearby mausoleum. He breathes hard, the air is cold enough to see his breath. He glares at Han’s headstone. 

This fucking guy.

A liar. A cheater. He didn’t deserve Leia. But his Mom comes from a generation where you don’t divorce, regardless of how bad things get. If Grandpa was alive, he’d have shot at Han’s headstone as a warning to his ghost. He tries to remember where Grandpa hid his gun.

The flower is still there. Chuffed, he slides off the stone and places a hand on the headstone.

“If only you could see things now. You’re 6 feet under and I’m a felon. Are you happy now?” He asks.

There is no response except for the cold wind blowing against his exposed arms, causing him to shiver. He picks up the flower, intending to throw it away, when he hears another person approaching. Looking up, he sees Leia’s smile.

“Where were you?” He barks out. He didn’t mean to be angry, he was worried. Discovering that her husband was a cheater would further ruin her day. Better to be let down by one man in her life rather than two.

“I was with Chewie.” She looks at him, haunched over the headstone, “You’ve decided to visit him…”

He drops the flower, “I’ll be waiting in the car.”

She smiles pointedly at him as he walks past, “Even left a flower.”


	2. Yayo

The aroma of menthol cigarettes, watered-down beer, leather polish, and Ben's scent fills the air. Ben stands behind the counter at Bar One. Tonight, he's on bartending duty. He grabs a dirty cup from the small stack next to the sink and washes it. There aren't too many cups to clean, but he needs to look busy.

He huffs as he grabs another cup; it feels good to have a job. It gives him a sense of purpose. Tonight his purpose is to serve beer with less than 5% alcohol to truckers and bikers. Even if he is a piss poor bartender, it allows him to pretend he's normal. As if his real job isn't helping the FO move keys across the west coast.

Sometimes, when he's on bartending duty, he finds himself smiling. He enters a zen state when he’s serving drinks. Everything falls into a comfortable, predictable, rhythm: the same faces, the same drinks, the same movements. Ben serves the customers with little effort and puts the money in the cash register. Then he repeats the process again and again. Everything flows. He feels content.

But ever since that ginger prick told him that he looked simple when he smiled, Ben doesn’t smile as much.

Arrogant fuck.

Where did that prick get off talking to down to Ben? Bar One is not exactly high-class. In comparison to the regulars, Ben looks like he belongs on the cover of GQ.

Ben has his own theory: Hux is frustrated. Hux would probably get pussy if he didn’t always scowl like a constipated goth. And if he finally shut up for once. He was always making noises; he even slurped his food. What kind of moron slurps salad?

Ben shakes his head. He can’t complain much tonight, Hux is nowhere to be seen. He’s happy.

The old TV repeats an ad of a blonde in a bikini eating a burger. Each time she bites into the burger, it looks like nothing has changed. There is no bite mark. All the sesame seeds are organized in perfect rows on the bun. It’s unsightly. The model looks at the camera, and then she takes another bite and laughs. The process starts again.

Ben looks down at the cup he just cleaned. Somehow it’s dirty again. That's no good. So he cleans it again. He isn't surprised when it appears on the side of the sink, covered in the same filth he just watched pour down the drain.

He repeats the task over and over and over. Basic tasks are the only thing he is good at. Besides, he likes having something to do. As long as he’s cleaning the cup, he has a purpose.

To his left, three bikers walk in. One man walks in the middle, and Ben assumes he's the leader. The man in the middle, a beer-bellied middle-aged man, has his face covered in tattoos and piercings. The fogey has odd tattoos up his arm. Ben can't place the tattoos, so the group must be from out of town. The other two men are dressed the same along with matching tattoos. Ben turns his attention back to cleaning. Until he notices one of the sidemen is wearing a beanie and black bandana, like a makeshift balaclava.

Not on Ben's watch.

He puts the dirty glass on the bar making a loud clunk, a tad dramatic. He clears his throat and speaks up, "Face coverings aren't allowed." He looks the men in their eyes, "That means you get no service. Of any kind."

'Of any kind.' Meaning that if you're here for Snoke or the keys, we want to see your face. The atmosphere is tense. As if Ben had told them he fucked their mothers. The man in the bandana makes an aggressive move like he's about to storm Ben, but the middle-aged man puts his hand out.

"Blue. Listen to the boy." The man spits. "We're guests here."

The one called Blue takes his bandana off, and Ben can't look away. The man’s entire lower jaw is fucked. It’s a Jackson Pollock of sinew, bones, and teeth. His tongue rolls out like the red carpets celebs walk on. It's pretty sickening. He can ever hear the stuttered breathing, it sounds like a lawnmower struggling to turn on.

Ben thinks, how is he alive?

"How is he alive?"

The leader looks into Ben's soul, "Don't you have customers to serve?"

An old trucker steps up to the bar and begins ordering drinks for himself and his buddies. Ben forces himself to focus on serving drinks, but he can’t get the image out of his mind. The group walk past him and head upstairs, but no matter how far away Blue is, he can still hear the slurping noise.

He doesn’t get too much time to focus on the noise as customers start piling in. They order in groups, each person wants their drink customized as if the bar was Novu.

He’s manning the bar alone; no one else is around besides Ben and the indistinguishable patrons. He tries to keep on top of the orders: which menthol-cigarette-smoking Karen ordered what? More customers walk in. In fact, they stream in. Fuck. What is happening?

The local country-rock radio station plays in the bar, but it’s hard to hear over the customers shouting their orders and talking over each other. The neon lights sting his eyes. He feels like he’s in a blender with all the noise and lights: it's overwhelming.

He sees himself from above; his hair is a mop, and he’s sweating as he tries to keep up with orders. His hands move independently of his will. There is no Ben, he is only an observer.

Then he fucks up.

He drops a glass.

He comes crashing down into his body. Everything stops. The music cuts off. The people stop talking. Their beady little eyes watch him. Watching. Every. Single. Movement. They don’t speak. Even the model on TV stops eating and turns to watch him.

The whispers begin softly at first. The faceless crowd is talking about him and he knows it. Gradually, the sound of their whispers grows until he can’t ignore it anymore. He braces himself against the counter. The sound speeds up.

“What are you whispering about? Why are you whispering?” He yells at the crowd, his screams make the noise stop. He begins sobbing, “Why are you doing this to me?”

He’s crying like he’s a kid again. Their glares signal their judgment of him. He can’t bear the weight of everyone’s eyes on him. They don't allow him a moment of peace as their questions stream into his mind: Why does he dress like that? Why is his hair so long? Why didn’t he graduate high school? Why? Why? Why?

Like a cornered animal, he runs to the entrance; his shoes squeak against the wood floors.

“Leave me alone!” He yells back as he struggles with the doorknob. The door does not give. He feels sick to his stomach as he senses the crowd close in on him, they're watching over him like a zoo animal. He only exists for their entertainment.

As the sobs wrack his body, he falls slides against the door, folding in on himself. He is a crumpled mess on the floor. Like the dirty mop Snoke keep in the corner but never uses. He looks disgusting. His face twisted in pain, snot dripping out, and they can see it all. They’re all just standing there: watching him.

The whispering reaches a fever pitch but slowly dies down. He can hear someone’s footsteps as they step toward him. Despite how scared he is, he feels the urge to look at this newcomer. Whether it’s curiosity or awe at the stranger who silenced all the chattering voices, he can’t be sure.

Hux stands before him. His red hair frames his head like a burning halo. Hux squats down until he’s face to face with Ben. The blood on the side of his face softens his venomous glare.

Hux shakes his head, smiling, “You just couldn’t cut it. Could ya?”

* * *

Coldwater smacks Ben's face, and he jumps on the floor like his life depends on it. His head is spinning and the stench of his room… ugh. There's only one person who would do this to him, and he can't even be grateful for her disrupting his nightmare. Why the fuck did she wake him up like this?

“Wake up!” Leia screeches like a harpy. "Get the fuck up!"

“I’m obviously awake now.” He grumbles. He tries to push himself off the floor.

“It’s already 3!”

His stomach makes a gurgling sound. He feels like he might barf, “I don’t feel good today.”

“You never feel good any day!” She throws the cup against his side and stomps out.

Ben squeezes and massages his head. He’s sure his headache has been upgraded to a migraine. He briefly wonders whether they have any ibuprofen left, or if he ate them all the last time she woke him up like this. Setting the cup on his bedside table, he stumbles up and throws the blanket on the bed.

Fuck, his skull feels like it's struggling to contain his brain. Grabbing his phone, he checks the time: 2:12 pm. He stares at his bed for what feels like an eternity. Like an alluring siren, he hears it calling for him. But a harpy stands in the way. And she won’t let him reunite with his only source of joy.

He sits on the edge of his bed and comes to terms with the fact that he exists.

He is here. His name is Ben, he's human filth, and he never wakes up before 10 am.

Briefly, he wonders if there’s any significance behind his dream. What does it mean when you dream of the ghosts of your co-workers mocking you?

After a few minutes of sitting and existing, he checks his phone again: 2:33 pm. He wishes he could lay in bed and do nothing, but the harpy wants something. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have made such a dramatic entrance. Opening his phone, he closes the 14 porn tabs he had open. He wishes he had a good reason for staying up so late, but truthfully, he just couldn’t find the right video and fell asleep. Thank god he had his dick in his pants when she forced him up.

As soon as he lays back on the bed, she rushes back in and starts yelling at him to get up again.

She throws an envelope at his face. “Get up. Get changed. You’re going to group therapy.”

“I gotta shower.” He says, still groggy.

“You don’t do anything that would make you sweat. Just change your clothes and let’s go. I’ll give you 5 minutes.”

“And if I don’t?”

Leia’s scowl doesn’t slack, “Then I change the wifi password and cancel your phone plan.”

It’s a standoff. They’re both glaring at each other like they’re in a Clint Eastwood film. But he knows his mother better than anyone; she would get rid of the only thing keeping him occupied.

He is the first to back down, like always. “I’ll get changed.” Fucking coward.

When she leaves the room, he begins imitating her screeching. He doesn’t understand how such a small creature can be so loud and insufferable. He pushes down his anger as he dresses in sweat pants and a dirty shirt. Hey, she never said he had to dress clean. Maybe the embarrassment will teach her to leave him alone.

He doesn’t hate her. At least he doesn’t think he does, he knows she tries but he wishes she didn't. So he could finally move on. He could sleep and never wake up. Then maybe her life would be easier. Maybe her life would have been easier if he was never born. What would the world look like without Ben? Some companies would be a few dollars poorer but that's nothing in comparison to the billions they already have. And some kids wouldn't have addicts for parents. Leia would ... he doesn't know what the world would look like but he's willing to bet, it would be a lot better.

Anyway, none of that matters right now.

She rolls her eyes when he walks downstairs in his lazy outfit.

“Holdo told me about this volunteer outreach program Ahsoka is running. You volunteer at shops and restaurants to build up your resume. Hopefully, you'll either impress the people you work for, which I doubt, or Ahsoka will use her connections to get you a job." She rambles away as she hands him the car keys.

She continues to talk his ear off as they get into the car and directs him to the nearby community center.

He can barely hear what she’s saying over the dull ache of his migraine. Why is she still trying to talk to me, he thinks, can’t she see I’m not listening? He wants to yell, I don't care, but he doesn't want to hear her talk any more than she already is.

"As a condition, you have to go to group therapy for people with mental issues or whatever they call it. We can’t afford a personal therapist or psychiatrist, but at least the group therapy is free."

He grips the steering wheel. Leia did not believe in mental illnesses. A trait she shared with Han. And they wondered how Ben grew up to be so fucked up? When he was never allowed to express any emotion besides anger and placation. He can't remember the last time he felt anything.

“And Holdo’s brother did the program. You know the one who used to live in an RV park? Well, now he can afford an apartment for his family.”

He doesn’t respond.

“And maybe if you actually stick with this, then you can finally get a job and move out."

If he gave a shit, her words would sting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A healthy parent-child relationship? Can't relate.


	3. The Other Woman

Ben doesn’t believe in therapy. There isn’t a single Solo or Organa who believes in therapy. Suppose he inherited that from his parents, huh? When he attended the first group therapy session he said nothing, until Ahsoka started hounding him to share more about himself.

“I’m Ben.” He said once.

She asked for more, for something less obvious.

“I don’t know.” Is his go-to answer. “I’m just tired.”

It’s not a lie. He is tired: tired of the questions, tired of being himself, tired of existing, tired of the universe. He can tell she’s not happy with his response, but by now she should be used to him disappointing her.

Before he leaves, Ahsoka gives him some pamphlets and a breakdown of the volunteer program. Naturally, he puts it in the trash where it belongs.

He doesn’t attend the second meeting. It was easy to miss. Leia had work and he had stuff to do. You know, stuff like browsing reddit, reading some adult doujinshi, and he managed to squeeze in time to buy weed from Lando. Lando isn’t the first college professor who smokes weed, but he may have been one of the first to sell it. Then again, Ben has god-son privileges, half off the price, so he isn’t going to criticize Lando. All spare money Leia tosses his way goes to the weed.

Right now, Ben is smoking in the garden. The soft grass yields to his form as he lays on the ground and stares at the clouds. His head is empty as he watches the fat clouds get dragged slowly across the sky, like plump cats dragged from their resting spot.

The clouds move slowly, but he remains in the same spot. He does not move. Not from this spot, not from the past, not from the voices in his head reminding him of how fucking pathetic—

He pinches the exposed thigh under the hem of his shorts, leaving an angry red mark. Then he takes another puff. Slowly, a miasma falls over his thoughts and leaves him mindless. He can't track his thoughts. Good. He prefers it this way.

Thoughts flit in and out of existence. Sometimes it’s a reminder of a meme he saw, other times its images of people. Like his ex. He doesn’t know why he’s thinking of her right now. The heartless bitch that left him to die in prison. Not that he can blame her, he wasn’t the best boyfriend. 

At least they had some good times. He can still remember the taste of her cherry lip balm, and the way she’d take hours to style her hair because it refused to hold a style. He smiles when he remembers that she hated terms of endearment. She hated ‘baby’ the most unless they were in bed. Unwittingly, his hand travels down his chest until it rests on top of his—

"Ben!" And just like that, Leia ruins his mood.

Ben bolts up and puts out his joint. He buries it, even though he knows she can smell it. He runs into the house, making sure to throw his shirt in the dirty clothes hamper, and heads to the bathroom.

“I’m in the bathroom!” He yells before quickly washing his face.

“Come here!” She yells back.

He gargles listerine and applies eye drops. That should hide the evidence a little. Ben takes the time to put on a random shirt, he doesn’t know if it’s clean. When he steps out, Leia is waiting in front of the door with her arms crossed.

“Are you going to do this program or have you already quit?”

She always brings up his failures. She can never allow him to forget how much of a fuck up he is. His stomach is burning. He wonders if he’s developing an ulcer. “No! I forgot to go last week but I’m going next time. I’ll need the car.”

Her arms drop, “Next time?”

He nods.

“So you mean today?”

Again, he nods. He doesn’t have a clue as to what day it is.

“Kay. I’ll come along,” before he can speak she’s dragging him to the front door, “I can wait in the car. Don’t worry, I won’t be bored. I’m on level 278 of bubble crush.”

Leia shakes her phone in front of his face. She doesn’t say anything about the smell of weed. Whatever, it’ll lessen before he gets to the group therapy. And Ben isn’t afraid to drive high; he’s done it plenty before and nothing ever went wrong. His probably a better driver high than sober.

The drive is mostly quiet, except for the periodic horn sound effect as Leia completes another level. It’s a mystery how she can never tire of monotonous gameplay, with the same sound effects, but is exhausted speaking with her son. 

But Leia has always been like this. She was never meant to be a mother, Ben thinks, she should’ve finished her PolSci degree and gone into politics. But then she met Han.

That bastard.

When they pull up to the community centre Leia tells him to leave the car keys with her. He leaves her to play level 666 or whatever level of that awful mobile game. The inside of the centre is ancient and smells like wet carpet. It looks like any other substandard community centre that doesn’t get enough funding. The design looks like a rejected saved by the bell set: full of odd shapes and pastel colors.

Ahsoka stands at the door and smiles when she sees him. “Ben! What happened last week?”

“I forgot.” He lies.

“I get it. You’re a busy guy. We got free coffee and donuts in the back. You’re early this time so feel free to have a snack before everyone else arrives.”

Ben joins an older man who’s sipping coffee out of a paper cup. The donuts are stale, they taste like cardboard smothered in brown sugar. The coffee, meanwhile, tastes like hot water with a hint of bean but it helps him swallow the donuts.

Soon enough, Ahsoka directs everyone to take their spots in the circle of chairs. She sits next to a small whiteboard with the words ‘Comfort Zone’ written in red marker. Ahsoka gives a well prepared speech about building resilience but Ben does not listen. He enjoys watching the others in the group far too much.

There’s Finn, an upbeat talkative guy whose probably a member of Oprah’s book club. If that’s still a thing. He keeps talking about how the universe will conspire to give him what he wants. If it did conspire to do that, he’d probably have a job by now. He wouldn’t be sitting next to Ben.

There’s also Rose. Ben thinks she might be close friends, or more than friends, with Finn. She’s always nodding and smiling when he talks about positivity and keeping an open mindset. It’s all bullshit. They’re the kind of people to share meaningless motivational quotes on instagram.

Why is it always the losers and shmucks that post about lambos and having a ‘success’ mindset? Ben can’t figure it out.

Almost 15 minutes into the group therapy session and the door opens once more. Ben’s heart drops to the floor when he sees the same woman from the cemetery. When she steps into the room, Rose turns back and waves at her. The woman smiles but freezes when she sees Ben, wearing a ‘fuck off’ expression, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He stares at her like she’s prey.

She doesn’t take the hint. Her heels clack against the floor as she makes her way to the group and takes the seat by Rose.

“Hello Rey!” Ahsoka greets her. Rey… so that’s his father’s mistress’s name.

“Hi.” She says meekly.

“We were sad that you couldn’t join us for the previous two sessions but it’s great to have you again. Today, we’re talking about getting out of our comfort zones and building resilience. Finn has been kind enough to share his experience about challenging his GAD. Rose was just telling us about how she has been practicing speaking with retail workers and using doordash less. I think you can go after her, if that’s fine with you?”

Before Rey can answer Rose pipes up, “Actually, I’m done. Rey the floor is all yours.”

Ahsoke tries to reassure Rey, “Remember. We’re all friends here. If you don’t feel like talking, that’s fine.”

“No, no.” Rey shakes her head, “I’m fine talking.”

Ben can’t help but notice the small rip in her hosiery. Rey wore business casual clothing and if Ben’s eyes aren’t deceiving him—she was wearing the same tight skirt the day she left a flower on his dad’s grave. He pries his eyes away from her legs to focus on what she’s saying:

“...and the supervisor told me that I could go for a short walk if I wanted. But the client didn’t get under my skin. I felt fine. So I kept working. That’s my biggest step forward.”

The group congratulates her with cheers of ‘good job’ and ‘you go girl.’ The last one being from Rose.

“That’s great to hear. And how have you been, uh, with your coping mechanism?”

Rey gives a constrained smile before she swallows, “I haven’t read a sad story or cried over a gravestone in a long time.”

Ben can’t take it anymore. It’s ridiculous. All of it is so fucking ridiculous. Did she expect him to sit there and listen to her sob story? As if she was some hero for not visiting her dead married lover’s grave! As if! The laughter jumps out of him. Ben knew she was lying to the group. It hadn’t been a few weeks, it had barely been two weeks since he met her in the cemetery. He feels like God is pulling a fast one on him. What were the chances of him meeting her here?

“We don’t shame others for their coping mechanisms. I’m sure yours will be very odd to us. What do you do to cope, Benjamin?”

Ahsoka, being an old close friend of Leia, knew how much he hated being called Benjamin. 

He wipes his upper lip and sniffles, “Don’t have a coping mechanism.” He motions to Rey with his head, “So what, you visit random graves to cry over them?”

“Well, no, I—”

“Ya know… that’s really disrespectful to the deceased’s family.” He says, leaning forward.

She doesn’t let up, “Well I know that! That’s why I wanted to stop.”

Rose winces.

Ben notices a small twitch under Rey’s eye and goes in for the kill. “Have you ever been caught by some dead fucker’s family member?”

Rey sits quietly with her hands in her lap.

Ahsoka capitalizes on the silence, “Benjamin. We will talk about this after the session. Rey, I’m glad to hear you’ve been progressing. It is not easy, but it is worth it. Was there anything else you wanted to share?”

“You don’t have to.” Rose pats her friend.

“No. I’m fine. I… I had a cup of rice last week. Don’t worry, it was only one.” Rey makes a piss poor attempt at a joke.

“That’s good to hear, Rey. And that’s a healthy amount, as long as it wasn’t the only thing you had. Now, Joanne.” Ahsoka jokes and keeps the group therapy moving.

As the session progresses, Ahsoka avoids including Ben, which is fine by him because he’s too busy shooting daggers at Rey. This was their second meeting and it didn’t clear up anything!

Why is she afraid of rice, he thinks, and why does she cry at stranger’s gravestones? Their confrontation makes the remainder of the session extremely awkward. Rey, like Ben, doesn’t say anything. 

Soon enough, the session ends and people are free to mingle and grab more stale donuts. Ben remains in his seat and watches from a distance as Rose rubs Rey’s back and whispers to her. Probably whispering something reassuring, he thinks, not that she needs it.

“Benjamin.” Ahsoka’s voice draws his attention away from the girls.

“Ahsoka.”

“Don’t think you can come to our group meetings and mock another person’s mental health struggles.”

“It’s fucking weird, you have to admit it.” He says, his arms crossed.

Ahsoka puts her hand up, “I don’t wanna hear it. You’re lucky I’m friends with Leia. One more outburst like that and I’m kicking you off the program. And Benjamin, I expect you to come to _every single session_ from now on.”

She hands him a booklet on resume building and leaves to chat with the group members. When he looks back at the girls, he sees Rey standing alone sipping coffee out of a paper cup.

It’s now or never. Ben stands up and casually makes his way to the strange woman.

“Rey. That’s your name right?” Of course it is, he already knows this, he just needed an opener to the verbal beat down he was about to deliver.

“Yeah. And you’re Benjamin, right?” She tilts her head.

Sarcastic little shit.

“I don’t wanna see you around Han’s grave anymore, got it?”

“It’s not like that. You’re taking this too personally—”

“Personally?” He is taken aback, “Of course I would take it personally. He was my fucking dad.”

“No! Wait, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“He may be dead, but his wife is still alive. How do you think she’s gonna feel seeing her dead husband’s mistress crying at his grave?”

“Mistress?” She stares dumbfound. “I’m no-one’s mistress!”

“Then how did you know Han? How did you know the exact path to his headstone?”

She grips her coffee cup, “Look, I never knew Han. I just walked randomly till I found an empty spot to cry. I didn’t know your dad, and I certinaly never slept with him. So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t throw around accusations. And fuck you for making fun of my mental illness.”

She plops the paper cup on the plastic table and stomps away.


	4. Normal Girl

The sweet synthetic taste of cheap ketchup pours down Ben’s gullet. Leia made curry. Again. For the third time that week. And he’s not in the mood to shovel poorly made curry in his mouth. God knows, his stomach needs a break. Instead, he cooks frozen chicken fingers in the microwave.

They’re soggy. When he pulls at them, their skin remains glued to the plate. He doesn’t let the golden breaded skin go to waste, though. He squeezes ketchup directly on his tongue, it would serve as a chaser to the oddly dry skin.

At the end of his meal, he is left with an overstuffed belly. Like a turkey bursting at the seams. Leia often scolds him for eating with his eyes instead of his stomach.

He knows that sooner or later, he would have to address his eating problems. Ahsoka’s therapy focuses too much on self-esteem and resilience to address the patients’ actual issues. After his confrontation with his dad’s not-mistress, he has attended both group sessions. Luckily for him, she didn’t have the balls to show herself. Why is it lucky? He asks himself. Maybe it’s because he would confront her again? Ask her why she cries over random graves. Maybe he doesn’t have the balls to admit he was wrong.

Unfortunately, there isn’t much time to think it over. He hears the hum of Leia’s ford as she pulls into the garage. She recovered quickly and could now drive herself. He sighs—time for her to ruin the atmosphere.

That’s not to say he didn’t try. He tried at least two techniques from therapy: he wrote his goals down for a week, err, two days, and he meditated. Once. If someone were to tell him that he should try harder, he’d tell them to fuck off.

The first thing Leia does when she steps into the kitchen is to yell at Ben for not immediately washing his plate.

“I did last time, and the time before that, and the time before that since the dawn of time.” She spits. Her words are caustic. She grabs the plate from under him and starts doing the dishes.

Of course, he thinks, Leia has to begin every interaction with the one thing she’s good at. Complaining.

Either the room shrinks or he is growing larger. Like Alice with the cake or was it a vial? He feels hot. His palms are covered in a film of sweat. 

“I ask myself, all the time, why do I anything for you?”

The heat makes his armpit sting. Her words twist and constrict around his throat. His body heat smothering his organs.

He looks back to her; her lips move faster than the words hit his ears.

“Nothing is changing! Maybe therapy isn’t what you need, hm. Put some REAL effort into your life. Go back, get your GED. I’ve let go of hopes of yo graduating college. Go be a plumber or an electrician. Are you even listening to me? Are you doing the group work, hm? Been volunteering?”

Suds cover her arms, reaching halfway to her elbows.

His heartbeat slows down. The invisible vice uncoils from his ribs and he tries to speak, but she is faster.

“You expect to live off my income and social security forever?”

The words weigh on him. His thoughts are frantic, they fumble over each other, piling up together till he can’t discern what is going through his head. The noise is overwhelming at first but soon it all blends together like a distorted melody of tv static.

“I have an interview.”

She’s so shocked that she places a wet hand on her hip. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t wanna say anything in case I didn’t get the job.”

“Where is it?”

“At East Rivers Mall.”

“Okay, but where? Is it at a store or... “ She gestures with her hand.

“Yeah, at a restaurant there. You know, the new Italian one that opened up. I’m heading over there today.”

She looks relieved. When her lips purse this time it’s out of content. Like she had nothing else to complain over.

He doesn’t know why he lied. Maybe he wanted to shut her up for once. Maybe he needs an excuse to get out of the house. A part of him knows he doesn’t need an excuse to leave. But he needs to stay. Leia, too, needs him to stay. After his dad died and he was still in prison, she was convinced her death would be reported in the local newspaper. Somewhere halfway through, below ads for hardware stores, a tiny snippet would read: “ _ Old woman found dead alone in house after neighbors notice smell _ .”

Even if he is a fuck up, he gives her life purpose. God knows it’s not the mortgage driving her forward.

What would Ahsoka call it? A co-dependent relationship?

“I’ll drive you.” She says. It feels like the acid in his stomach bubbles and heats.

He showers and brushes his teeth, the first time in 5 days. He brushes his hair, he is surprised he didn’t notice how long it had grown. The ends brush his shoulders.

Before they leave he prints out three copies of his resume. They still have his old address. It doesn’t matter. He knows he won’t get any calls back.

After she drops him off, he wanders around. He approaches cashiers and asks about vacancies. They take one look at his tattoos, his unkempt facial hair, his eye bags, and tell him to apply online.

  
  


When he is overwhelmed with the artificiality of bright lights and marble floors, he sits on a public bench. Ads of photoshopped models dot the inside of the mall; all shallow and mundane. Once you’ve seen one picture of a reality tv celebrity putting on lipstick in an empty white void, you’ve seen them all.

Yeah, maybe he wasn’t in a position to judge: he hadn’t been in months. The only time he worked out consistently was in prison. That was also the last time he got a haircut. 

From the bench, he stares at his reflection in a store window. He doesn’t look that bad. He needs to trim his stache and his hair. He doesn’t even look like a normal human. He looks like a ghost wearing a corpse.

His attention shortcircuits when a woman in a billowy skirt passes in front of him. He doesn’t get a clear look at her. Her brown hair is down and curls slightly at the end. But from her profile, he gets an inkling that he knows her. His suspicion is all but confirmed when he notices her legs. 

She walks into a thrift store and he stops just short of following her. The woman. The not-mistress, looks at the clothes rack in the front and makes her way toward the book section. A shop assistant steps into view and Rey is forced to interact with her. As soon as the girl leaves, Rey’s smile drops. She sighs, clearly exhausted from the social interaction.

Ben knows how that feels.

He waits outside of the store, on the gross leather seats that probably don’t get cleaned as often as is necessary. Rey walks up to the cashier carrying three books. He squints to make out what she’s buying. A book of vegan recipes and two diet books.

For a moment he is confused. She doesn’t look like the type to need a diet book. She was lean and healthy. At least she looked healthy. Of all the things he could change about her, it wouldn’t be her figure. He’d want to change her impression of him.

But it doesn’t matter now. He doesn’t care.

An older woman walks past and gives him a side glance; it’s then he realizes what he is doing. He can’t call her out on her odd behavior when he is practically stalking her, so he leaves.

On the ride home, Leia continues to berate him after he tells her he doesn’t think he got the job. “You should have worn a long sleeve shirt.” She watches him sigh in the corner of her eye. “That’s your problem you always give up!”

  
  


“If you aren’t going to do the volunteer work with Ahsoka, then I’ll cancel your phone plan. It is under my name, after all.”

The threat works. At the next group therapy session, he signs up for volunteering work. Ahsoka beams when she notices and asks which group he’d like to be in. Looking over the sheet, he notices her name and the empty slot beneath it. He doesn’t like anyone in her group. It has Poe, Rose, Finn, and Rey.

There are other groups, with plenty of room for extras.

But the girl occupies his thoughts. His mind replays the image of her relief when she left alone. He knows, instinctively, that she is a kindred spirit. She is lost. Broken. Spinning in circles in the same spot.

Or maybe that’s just him?   
  
Whatever.

Taking up the pen he writes his name in the space beneath hers.

He is no longer alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/lapinrosewrites)


End file.
